


The Turning (Point)

by pocketwatchangora



Category: The Turning (2020)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Ending, Angst, Badass, Canonical Character Death, Catharsis, Child Abuse, Covering mirrors, Fear, Forced, Friendship, Help, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Miles needs a hug, Miles' room is the creepiest place in the house, Past Child Abuse, Peeping, Pizza, Rape, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, The Secret Garden movie, The Smiths References, Truth, Underage Drinking, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28537371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketwatchangora/pseuds/pocketwatchangora
Summary: Since the film makers couldn't decide on an ending, I wrote my own.Heavily focuses on the implied toxic relationship between Miles and Quint, giving it some graphic weight in the form of sexual abuse of said minor (Miles is 14 when it starts), as well as Quint's obsession with, and ultimate murder of, Miss Jessel.
Relationships: Miles Fairchild & Kate Mandell, Miles Fairchild/Peter Quint
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11





	1. How It All Started

**Author's Note:**

> This takes places right after Kate tries to talk to Miles but he starts playing drums to block her out and she leaves. This follows the first ending's timeline where the ghosts are real and Kate is not imagining it.
> 
> I have to say, having read the book as well as seen the film, it's a travesty they cut out the deleted scene where Kate accidently kills Miles (which was inexplicably in the trailer???). Even then, the credits still would have been the best part of the film imo. The acting and aesthetics were great, the plot not so much.
> 
> This fic is graphic and heavy on the child sexual abuse of Miles, who is 14 at the start of said abuse. The abuse happens in flashbacks, which will be indicated by this symbol ~ at both the beginning and end. Discretion is advised, take care of yourselves!
> 
> The album Kate plays is Radiohead's Pablo Honey, the song is 'You' and it came out in 1993. Check it out, it's a banger.
> 
> Please enjoy, and leave me some Kudos and a comment 😁
> 
> Inspired, in part by wild flower by itsukoii

The incessant drumming died away to nothing as Kate stood outside Miles' room. She was upset and angry at him but knew, in her heart, that she needed to try harder for him. He was damaged, badly, and could probably just use a friend. She took a deep breath, turning back to the door, then became aware of the sound of crying. 

After a moment of terror, not daring to move in case it was one of  _ them… _ she realised the sound came from beyond the door before her. She summoned her courage, put her brave face on, and knocked. 

"Miles?" She asked softly, not meekly, opening the door to see him still at the drum set. Air left her in a rush of relief and sorrow. "Miles…" she said softly, her own eyes stinging when she saw his crumpled face and hunched-over little body. 

When he didn't yell at her to leave, she walked in slowly, then went to sit on the mattress when the silence stretched further. Patiently, because she could tell this would require patience, she waited for him to talk, letting him cry bitterly until it was just sniffles and deep breaths. Finally, he spoke.

"I… I thought letting Quint do what he w-wanted was the right thing to do." he said softly, wiping at his red eyes with the sleeves of his striped sweater. She looked up at him, seeing he was shaking as he gripped the drumsticks tightly. 

"What did he want?" She asked, worried this had something to do with Miss Jessel. If Miles had been present… or, God forbid,  _ involved _ in whatever happened to her, taught by a man like Quint, a predator of the highest order, it was no wonder he was so screwed up. "Did you see him do something bad?" She asked, softly. He looked up at her, suddenly, his eyes wide.

Then he swallowed thickly and shrugged, looking down again. She wanted to kick herself, asking the wrong questions would only make him clam up even more. "What did you mean 'letting him do what he wanted'? Like… moving into your parents' bedroom?" she asked. He took a deep breath and shook his head. "What did he do, Miles?" She asked.

Watching him, his grip on the drumsticks tightening to the point where something was going to break, a cold wash of fear rolled over her. "Did he… hurt you?" She asked. He glanced at her, tears welling in his eyes again, and the sticks clattered to the floor, their rolling like the inside of a wine glass being made to whistle, let a jet engine. The amplified noise made them both jump, but neither of them moved, half frozen in time. 

Kate took a long slow breath in. "He hurt you…" she said after a moment. A statement this time, not a question. He made a tiny sound that she could have sworn was a whimper and nodded slowly. "What did he do?" She asked, goosebumps of horror forming on his skin. 

It was all starting to click into place. The violence at school, the fake charm, his inappropriateness with Kate but protectiveness of Flora. He had trusted Quint, and the man had abused that trust in perhaps the worst possible way… yet Miles still wore the dead man's clothes, maintaining that he was his  _ friend _ . He must have been manipulating Miles, grooming him like the 'thoroughbred' everyone said he was, for… for  _ years _ to still have this level of control over him.

Miles kept his head down and started to talk, quickly.

"He came to my room at night sometimes. He'd sneak in when everyone was asleep. I thought it would keep her safe." He whispered, eyes wide and staring at nothing, his skinny body shaking. 

"Keep who safe?" She asked, softly, and he finally looked at her again, tears streaking his thin face. 

"Miss Jessel!" He cried, young voice cracking with emotion. "He wanted to hurt her, he told me, and she would have left just like everyone leaves. I didn't want her to leave because she kept Flora safe. Miss Jessel even let her slept in her bed every night so she wasn't next to my room and I was so g-glad…!" He was sobbing now but he rubbed his eyes and kept talking because, if he stopped, he was scared he'd never be able to start again. "He said he wouldn't hurt her if I let him, but she _still_ _left!"_ He almost screamed this, face pink and his cheeks felt like they'd been slashed, then he was sobbing so hard his voice would be wrecked in a matter of minutes. 

He buried his face in his hands, long legs drawn up close to his body. Kate sat there, frozen, completely out of her depth. She wanted to hug him but knew she shouldn't touch him until he was calmer, and he wouldn't hear her voice without her yelling at him, which definitely wouldn't help. So, Kate did the only other thing she could think of. 

She grabbed the album she'd bought for him in town. A friend of hers got it when it first came out last year and she thought it was definitely something Miles would like, even if he probably already owned it. She grabbed the whimsical yellow CD case from the table and moved to his stereo where it sat by his mattress. She put it in and pressed Play, slowly turning the volume up. 

The soft, almost psychedelic double guitar riff floated through the room, getting louder as Kate turned the dial, and she was relieved to see Miles begin to calm. He was panting, sniffling and hiccupping, but he slowly raised his head to look over at the music's source. His sore red-rimmed eyes widened when the shred came in, the drums picking up too, then he audibly gasped when it all sank down to make room for the soft vocals. 

"H...holy shit… What is th-this…?" He asked, between splutters and sharp inhales, wiping his nose and eyes again, pushing his dark curls away. She smiled, leaving it on a good volume, and held up the case. 

"Radiohead. Told you it was great." She said. He listened longer, marveling at the constantly changing but seamless tones and instruments, the clean, charming vocals.

"I've heard of them but… whoa…" he said, wiping at his face on his sweater sleeves before getting up a little unsteadily. He walked over to her warily, and she handed him the plastic case at arm's length. He smiled a little wryly at the cover art and turned it over in his long, shaking hands. "Oh, 'Creep' is on here... Th-that's the one with the awesome guitar, right?" He asked, face and breathing still twitching after crying so hard, and she grinned, nodding. "I heard it on the radio at school." He said, sitting down on the mattress. They were at opposite ends, a whole person's length apart, yet she'd never felt closer to him. 

"Yeah, that was one of the singles." She said, relaxing back against the wall. "It's awesome, but not the best one on there, in my humble opinion. It'll probably have the longevity though." He nodded slowly, looking over the other titles. 

"Which one's your favourite?" He asked, glancing up at her. She smiled, pleased to have a normal conversation with him even though they were just screaming at each other. She could almost be talking to Rose, after they've taken their shoes off after work and opened a bottle of whatever cheap wine one of them picked up from the store.

"Well, 'Ripcord' is great to dance to but the one that really speaks to me is 'Prove Yourself'. The lyrics are kind of depressing, a lot of their stuff is, but the guitar is, oh my God, so good." He nodded, understanding completely, and finally looked at her properly. He looked so… young. For the first time, she felt like she was seeing the real him, before Quint sank his claws in. The 'sweet boy' Mrs. Grose spoke of, but whom Kate thought she had yet to meet. Here he was.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Kate. For everything - I've been so mean to you-" he said, then bit his lip, glancing at the mirror. If it was up to Kate, every mirror in the whole fucking building would be smashed to pieces by now. 

"Thank you, Miles, I appreciate it." She said. "And I'm sorry I didn't take the time to get to know you, or find out what you were going really through… I've never even asked how you are." He tensed immediately, sensing another attack of questions. She sighed, shrugging. "You can tell me when you're ready, ok? Only then." She promised instead. He looked at her, obviously surprised but incredibly grateful for her patience. 

He gave a small jerk of a nod, desperate not to start crying again, and looked back down at the CD case. "And… anything about Miss Jessel, too, would be helpful. If you know… what happened to her…?" She asked, trying to steer him without upsetting him. And it had the opposite effect. Tears dripped onto the black and white baby surrounded by nonpareils and sunflower petals. "Did you see what happened?" She asked. He looked at her, upset again, begging, and she smiled gently. "Ok. When you're ready." She promised again. He nodded, glancing at the mirror again before quickly looking away, like he'd seen something he'd been dreading. 

"Would it be…- Maybe, if we went somewhere else...? Where there aren't any…-" he trailed off, but she knew he wanted to say 'ghosts'. She smiled and nodded, checking her watch. 

"Sure. We can go and get something really unhealthy for dinner?" She suggested, and he grinned, nodding. She got up first, then offered her hand to him. He gazed at it, obviously calculating any repercussions, before he took it, letting her pull him up. "After you. Let's ask Flora if she has any requests." She said and he nodded, turning off the stereo and leaving the room. She followed him, sending one last glare at the dirty mirror before she closed the door. 

She had resolved, a couple of nights ago, not to look in any mirrors at all. Brushing her hair and teeth, getting dressed, all without a reflection was her morning routine now, having used spare pillow cases to cover the mirrors in her room, like a Jewish family in mourning. She ignored the large landing one completely, she wanted to take it down and turn it to face the wall, and tried hard not to glance at any of the others around the house. She knew where most of them were now, it was becoming second nature to just turn her head in the other direction, though she often felt a prickle at the back of her neck that meant someone, or something, was watching her from inside the glass. 

They found Flora with Mrs. Grose in the drawing room, the housekeeper trying to teach Flora chess. The active little girl looked up and grinned when she saw them both, immediately standing up and running to hug her brother. 

"Miles! You know how to play chess, right?" She asked, obviously vying for him to take her place. He laughed, convincingly, and pushed her back towards the table.

"Yeah, because Mrs. Grose taught me. Now she's teaching you." He said, nudging her to sit down again, which she did with Shakespearean levels of drama. The older woman was beaming at him lovingly, though frowned slightly when she saw his slightly pink face and sore eyes. 

"Miles? Is everything alright?" She asked, glancing suspiciously at Kate. He nodded with a smile, innocent and unperturbed. The scrutinised nanny stepped up to the plate with a smile that she hoped was as natural as Miles' looked. He was better at this than her, he'd obviously had a lot of practice...

"We were actually talking about going to get something for dinner, something delicious and  _ super _ bad for us." She said to Flora, who gasped and grinned her little missing-teeth grin.

"Pizza?" She asked, and Miles cheered.

"Exactly what I was thinking!" He agreed and they both looked at Kate, who raised her hands in a theatrical shrug. 

"I guess that's decided then. Ms Grose, any requests?" She asked, seeing the housekeeper looked rather put out. 

"Plain cheese is fine for me." She said, surprising Kate. Then she seemed to think and added, "Actually… if they have a goat's cheese one, that would be lovely." She said, possibly even blushing a little at her own daring, though it was difficult to tell as she was so entirely colourless. Kate smiled kindly and nodded. 

"Goat's cheese it is, plain cheese if not." She said, and Mrs. Grose gave her a grateful, appraising look.

"Pepperoni and olives for me!" Flora cried, still grinning in elation. 

"Ok. And ice cream for dessert?" She asked and the little girl looked as though she might combust with happiness. "Perfect. C'mon, Miles." She said and he nodded, kissing the top of Flora's head.

"Good luck, Mrs. Grose, you're gonna need it for this." He said with a charming smile, making her chuckle fondly, before following Kate out. 

As soon as they couldn't see him anymore, his mask of 'fine' fell off, his eyes haunted and face gaunt once again. Kate couldn't help but wonder how long he'd had to keep this charade up, to be  _ this _ good at lying to the people closest to him, and how exhausting it must be. His brave face was definitely better than hers, but it came at a price.

"Let's go." Kate said with a smile and he nodded, glancing at the mirror as they passed. 

They got into Kate's little car and headed for town, tensely silent until they got out the last set of gates and onto the public road. Until then, Kate ignored all safety laws by not even glancing at any of her mirrors until they were free of the grounds - not that it mattered there. Finally, on the road towards town, she felt comfortable enough to play her cassette, the mixtape Rose made her, and they both relaxed as Nirvana filled the silence. 

Kate drove them into town, and parked outside the grocery store. She sighed, put on her parking brake and killed the engine, then turned towards Miles. He was rigid in his seat, bony hands tight as they clutched the fabric of his jeans. He glanced at her, then at the rear-view mirror, then back down at his lap. Kate understood and pulled the cloth she used to wipe away condensation when the windscreen fogged up from the glove box, draping it over the rectangular mirror between them. 

He turned towards her then too, pointedly not looking at either of the side mirrors. They stared at each other for a few beats, before he began to speak. 

"It started, um, last summer… when I came back from the bar with Quint." He said, looking down again, and let the story tumble from his mouth in as few words as possible, reliving it in his own mind in vivid colour, remembering every detail.

**~**

Miles had a pleasant buzz from the whiskey Quint had bought him. It was still burning his throat a little, or it felt like it was, and he couldn't seem to stop giggling. He didn't feel sick like the first few times he'd tried it, which he felt quite proud about. 

Quint was beside him, hand on his shoulder or back, grabbing his waist whenever he tripped over his own feet. He stumbled into the older man, his solid warmth a comfort to the orphan. Miles missed his father terribly, but Quint was a good friend to him. 

When he first offered Miles his secret stash of alcohol, from the little flask he frequently drank from, they were out in the woods. Quint had been instructing Miles on how to maneuver his horse over the terrain of bracken and large tree roots. He was complimenting Miles on his improvement when Samson panicked, his hooves having slipped out from under him on a loose patch of mud. Miles had held the reins firmly, made calming sounds as he deftly guided the horse down to safety.

"You handled it like a man, Miles." He praised, and Miles felt his whole body light up at the words. He grinned, his eyes staying down shyly as he pet Samson's neck. “It's a strong animal." Quint continued, a flash of silver catching Miles' eye. He looked over to see the man pulling a familiar square flask from his coat's inside pocket. "If you don’t exert power over it, you’ll never gain control." He said sagely. Miles nodded, watching him unscrew the cap with practised ease, his large hands making the object look very small.

He looked up to see Quint smirking at him and blushed, looking down again. "Want a nip?" The rumbling voice asked. Miles frowned at the foreign word and Quint chuckled. "A sip." He explained, bringing the flask up to his own lips and taking a deep pull of whatever was inside. Miles watched from under his dark curls as the man's mouth pulled back in a grimace, his uneven teeth bared like an angry dog and inhaling a sharp hiss of air. Then he was smirking again, and offered the metal bottle to the boy, a small look of challenge somewhere in his dark eyes.

At fourteen, Miles understood the concept of alcohol. His parents had drank moderately, he thought, with wine at dinner and the occasional nightcap, and boys at school sometimes bragged about sneaking a sip of their older brother's beer, though most said it was kind of gross. He didn't know anyone who got 'drunk' except Quint.

"What is it?" Miles asked as he slowly took the flask, surprised by the size and weight. Quint chuckled, and gestured for Miles to try it first. Miles scowled at him, feeling made fun of, and took a pull like he'd just watched Quint do. 

He immediately regretted it when the searing, choking liquid set his mouth, nose and throat on fire.

It tasted like the smell of gasoline, acrid and sharp and nothing like what he'd expected. He spat what he hadn't swallowed out, drenching the thighs of his jodhpurs, and Quint laughed so harshly their horses startled. Miles coughed and spluttered, trying to keep Samson calm while grabbing his water bottle from the saddle bag, wanting to get the evil stuff out of his mouth. The water didn't help the taste but it did soothe his burning throat. He felt sick and dizzy, panting and very embarrassed. 

"That'll put some hair on your chest." Quint laughed, slapping Miles' back too hard and made him stumble. Miles wanted to cry. "It's whiskey, if you still wanna know. Try it again." Quint said. Miles looked at him with stinging, watering eyes, incredulous.

"No!" He croaked, drinking some more water, sloshing it around in his mouth and spitting to the side. He looked down at his soaked knees and wondered if he could cover the smell before Ms Grose laundered them. 

"You want to be a man, don't you? Wanna be just like me?" Quint asked, expectantly, and Miles sniffled, nodding. "Don't fucking cry. Men don't cry, Miles." He growled, impatient. He leaned forward, arm out to take the flask back, but Miles snatched it away. 

"W-wait!" He said hastily, wiping his eyes in his jacket sleeves. "I can do it." He glared down the innocuous bottle and took a deep breath, glancing at Quint before taking another, smaller, sip. 

It still burned, maybe even worse than before, but he forced himself to swallow it all. His breath left him in a wheezing gasp like he'd been punched in the stomach, eyes watering again, his head swimming. He stumbled backwards a little, his boots catching on an erupted root, and Quint grabbed him by the collar before he could topple over, laughing again. 

"That was a little better. We'll work on it." He said, punching Miles' arm jovially. Miles' vision seemed to spin, heat crawling from his belly to the tips of his fingers, his shins even felt weird, but he was so happy to please Quint. He was going to spend more time with Miles if he was teaching him to drink, that was awesome. And then he could go back to school and tell them he'd drank  _ whiskey _ and knew what being  _ drunk _ felt like, how good he was at it. 

He realised he was giggling, his face feeling numb but he was pretty sure he was smiling, and Quint was laughing along with him. 

"Damn, kid, you're drunk already! I knew you'd be a lightweight but damn." He said. Miles laughed harder, then felt really, really sick. 

He threw up, emptying out the watery, alcohol-stinking puke onto the mossy ground. Samson gave an indignant huff but touched his face to Miles' side in comfort. "What a waste!" Quint cried and Miles was suddenly afraid he'd yell at him, whiskey was probably expensive after all. But then he realised Quint was still laughing and Miles gave a weak, shaky laugh of his own, wiping his mouth. "Drink some water. You'll get used to it." Quint said, and Miles trusted him completely. 

It had become a thing after that, once or twice a week, Quint would take Miles out riding in the woods and they'd drink whiskey and, slowly, Miles 'built up a tolerance' as Quint told him. Quint told him all kinds of things, about the government and drugs and women. Miles hung on his every word, fascinated by how much the man had seen and done and knew. There were a few things here and there that Miles knew were not true, from reading books and sometimes watching TV at school, but he never questioned Quint directly. The man was his best friend and Miles would never do anything to upset him. 

After a month or so of steadily improving his tolerance to alcohol, Quint surprised the boy by taking him to a bar in town. Well, not  _ in _ town. But close to it, on a fairly remote road several miles away from the house. Miles loved the smoky atmosphere, the men's low voices and laughter, watching people play darts and cards, and drinking huge glasses of beer or chucking back tiny glasses of liquor he was told were called 'shots'. Quint seemed to know everyone by name, and them him, and Miles thought he must be the best man alive to have so many friends. 

Drinking at the bar, where the owner turned a blind eye to the obvious child among his mostly middle-aged clientele, was completely different to sipping from a flask in the grounds. There was an energy, a noise that Miles loved, craved whenever he was home in that huge, empty tomb of a house. He loved Flora, of course, and Mrs. Grose and Miss Jessel, but the air at the bar was so alive, so  _ masculine _ , he couldn't help but feel like more of a man just being there. 

They all encouraged him to drink, taught him some games too, and soon he was taking shots with Quint and all of his friends as they cheered and clapped him on the back, and laughed when he couldn't stand up and had to be carried out over Quint's shoulder like a dead deer. 

It was fun, more fun than he ever remembered having. 

That was until the night they saw Miss Jessel through the window. 

They were returning home after 'a few' at the bar. Quint had rode his horse there and back, with Miles in front of him, arms either side of the boy's waist so he could grip the reins. Miles wasn't allowed to ride if they were drinking, because how would Quint explain it to Mrs. Grose if he cracked his head open? 

Now, they were walking - well, staggering - back from the stables, laughing and joking boisterously. Then, suddenly, Quint clamped a hand over Miles' mouth, shushing him. Miles obeyed immediately, his dizzy head making his eyes sore and bleary, then felt himself being lifted and carried quite quickly. He tried to mumble that he could walk, he wasn't even that drunk, but Quint's hand was strong and a little painful around his jaw. 

"Shut up. Look who it is." Quint hissed as he finally released him, voice low and slurred like he'd just woken up. Miles looked up to see light, soft and yellow. As he blinked, his night eyes adjusting painfully, he realised they were outside a window, soft soil under his boots. Quint's hand was on his shoulder as he stood, slightly crouched, beside him. Miles swallowed, confused, and tried to work out what they were looking at. 

_ Oh, it's just Miss Jessel _ , he thought. This must be her room in the east wing, down the red corridor. He'd never really had much reason to visit this part of the house, noting the dark wooden panelling and lattice work on the window they were peering through. Usually, the nanny slept in the room close to his and Flora's but there was something wrong with the plumbing in that room so this was the temporary alternative, Quint had said. The other room, upstairs, was a lot nicer.

_ Why _ they were spying on Miss Jessel, Miles wasn't sure, but Quint obviously wanted him to see something in particular. Miles frowned deeply, trying to get his drunk brain to work so he could spot whatever that was, when Miss Jessel took her bathrobe off.

He'd seen women's bodies before, there were a few classical nude paintings in the old house, his mother always said it was 'a good perspective to have', but he'd never seen a  _ real _ naked woman before. He'd heard of magazines that had them on practically every page, boobs and even their privates, but they were just stories at school, like brothers' beers. The school was extremely strict on contraband so no-one was ever able to sneak one in to show around.  _ Nobody _ was going to believe  _ this _ . 

She was moving slowly, relaxed in her own space, her own skin, as she draped the silky robe over the bed's footboard and sat down at the vanity table. Quint let out a weird breathy laugh, his hand tightening on Miles' shoulder and the boy suddenly noticed how  _ heavy _ it was, how much his fingers dug into the hollows between Miles' bones. 

"Dirty bitch…" Quint muttered, and Miles glanced at him to see the man grinning, staring intently through the window, his eyes orange in the lamp light. Miles swallowed thickly, feeling very uncomfortable all of a sudden, and returned his gaze to his teacher. He couldn't help but think this was wrong, watching her like this without her knowledge. She should feel safe to do as she liked, alone in her bedroom… right?

Miles watched with a confused feeling of heat and fear in his stomach as Miss Jessel picked up her hairbrush, a wooden one with light horse hair bristles. She looked at her face for a few moments in the little mirror, turning her head to see it at different angles and sucking in her lips, her hand coming up briefly to stretch the skin on her chin, perhaps checking the status of a small blemish Miles couldn't see. Then she seemed to sigh and brought her brush up, sliding it through the hair, beginning at the left side of her parting and bringing it all the way down the length of almost white, waist-length hair. 

Miles was struck, first by how beautiful she looked, like a painting herself, then by how smooth her hair looked when the brush left that end, its path smooth and silkier than her satin robe.  _ It's not frizzy at all, _ Miles thought abstractly. His hair, for all its darkness and curl, puffed up like a dust bunny whenever anyone tried to brush or comb it dry…

His thoughts were interrupted by a strange sound from Quint, the hand on his shoulder moving to the back of his neck and gripping hard now, a bit too hard. Miles looked at him, wanting to tell him to let go, that it hurt, but Quint's face was… 'insane' was the only word that came to mind. His brown teeth, which Flora said (to Miles only) were kinda gross, were exposed as he grinned widely, his nose almost pressed against the glass as he stared fixedly at Miss Jessel. 

Miles felt terror in his chest and tried to move away from him, wanting to run and tell Miss Jessel or Mrs. Grose that something was wrong with Quint, that he'd lost his mind. He froze when that crazed smile turned on him, the soft interior light clashing with the cold, pale moonlight on the other side of his face so he really looked like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde all in one. 

"What's wrong, Miles? Not enjoying the show?" He asked, voice soft and concerned even as the sick bastardisation of joy remained plastered across his face. Miles barely recognised him, the man he idolised. Now, he just seemed  _ wrong. _ "I sure am." He said, then glanced downwards. Stupidly, Miles followed his gaze, and was shocked to see Quint's penis out, the flyer of his jodhpurs open and no underwear in sight like he was taking a piss. But it wasn't the limp dangling thing Miles' usually was. It was huge and long and standing up on its own like a stick. Hard, Miles thought, he's  _ hard _ . 

It wasn't like Miles didn't masturbate because he did, of course he did, he was 14 years old, but he'd never seen a  _ man's _ dick before. It looked impossibly huge, impossibly angry and red in the dim light, twitching and hungry for  _ something _ . Miles turned quickly, heat searing his face, and tried to move away from Quint again but the grip only tightening on his neck. 

"Stay where you are, boy, this is your next lesson." Quint rumbled through clenched teeth, tugging Miles closer to himself. Miles flinched, desperate not to touch that  _ thing  _ down there, and tried to struggle. 

"Quint… l-let me go. I don't want to watch anymore." He said, shivering now. His pleasant buzz from a shot of whiskey and one beer was gone, leaving him with a cold stomach and aching head.

"C'mon, boy. Listen to old Quint, like you always do." He snarled, yanking Miles so close the boy felt his breath on his cheek. "Remember what I said about controlling an animal? You have to dominate it, right?" He asked slowly. Miles nodded quickly, clamping his mouth closed and holding his breath when he smelt the man's foul breath. "The same goes for women, boy. You have to dominate them, make them  _ yours _ ." He hissed into Miles' ear. When Miles tried to wriggle away again, pushing at him with his hands and elbow, Quint grabbed a handful of his hair tightly and forced his face closer to the glass. 

Miss Jessel was still brushing her hair, taking her time to be gentle and tender with the long tresses. She was on the back now, where the hair was thickest, and had one section draped over her arm so she could get the ends easily. "She's such a stuck-up  _ bitch _ ." Quint growled, making Miles flinch. "Won't give me the time of day, just those polite little smiles when she's hurrying off, lying to my face. She wants me, I know she does, I just need to  _ show _ her."  _ He's not talking to me, _ Miles realised,  _ this is about her. _ Miles suddenly felt very scared for Miss Jessel, realising how much Quint could hurt her if he wanted to.

Then Quint looked at Miles, all pale skin, thoroughbred cheekbones and wide, frightened eyes, and he grinned. "Never let her know you've watched her like this, Miles, or she'll leave. She'll leave you and she'll leave Flora." He said, grinning. "You don't want that, do you?" He asked. Miles swallowed hard, terrified of both scenarios. Flora would be devastated if another person left, and Miles could admit to himself that he would be too. Since their parents' deaths, he was absolutely petrified of people leaving him. 

That's why he shook his head to Quint's question. Because, even after this, he couldn't stand the thought of losing Quint too. The man was his friend, he was only trying to help Miles grow up to be a man. He was doing what his father never got to do.

Quint grinned and continued. "She might even take Flora away with her. Then you'd lose them both, and you might never see her again. Mrs. Grose, too. And then it would just be you and me." Miles felt like he was going to cry, staring fixedly at the smooth movement of Miss Jessel's hand as she brushed through her long, lovely hair. It looked so soft… like the ribbon on his mother's old chaise lounge, softened by age and constant touch. He wished he could touch it, run his fingers through it, and then Quint took hold on his wrist. 

"You're going to do this for me, Miles, or I'm gonna tell Miss Jessel you were peepin' on her." Quint was saying, and Miles was so confused that he didn't even think to pull his arm away. "She'll hate you if she finds out." He said, moving Miles' hand closer to himself. Miles looked at him in confusion and fear just as his hand made contact with the shockingly hot, hard shaft sticking out from Quint's trousers. 

Miles snapped his hand away like he'd been burned, letting out a yelp of shock and disgust, and Quint slammed his own hand over his mouth, dropping them both to the floor. "What the fuck did I just say?!" He snarled, inches away from Miles' face, his alcohol-stinking breath stinging the boy's wide eyes. Miles stared at him, terrified and very conscious that his large callused hand was covering both his nose and mouth and he couldn't breathe. They waited for several long moments, Quint apparently waiting for something. 

Miles didn't dare move, his mouth staunchly closed even when his lungs started to ache and alarm bells began ringing inside his head. He was just starting to panic when Quint released his suffocating hold on the boy, not letting him fall back with his other still holding him too tightly. Miles was panting, gasping, but forced himself to quieten when Quint gave him a warning look, taking long measured breaths to refill his lungs 

They stayed there, crouched in the bushes a moment longer, before Quint put a finger to his own lips warningly and slowly stood up, pulling Miles along with him. 

Miss Jessel was where she had been, brushing her hair and seemingly none the wiser. In truth, she had turned at the odd noise, glancing out the window curiously, but had quickly decided it was probably just a bird or a fox, continuing with her evening routine. She tried not to think about the prickling feeling on the back of her neck, nor the awful things Quint had muttered about her that evening, after she declined his offer of a drink for what felt like the 20th time. He was an awful man, she wished he'd just leave her alone.

After a few more moments, she leaned over to pluck her robe from the bed and pulled it on, feeling somehow too exposed in the room that was supposed to be hers. She would definitely ask Mrs. Grose about moving back upstairs, the chimney must be clear of pigeons by now...

On the other side of the glass separating inside and out, Miles was trembling and struggling not to cry. Quint was guiding his hand around his own hard and aching cock, covering the boy's bony hand and wrist easily with his own, showing him the right amount to grip it with and then slowly moving it up and down along the mighty staff. Quint let out a chuckling groan, holding Miles' neck tightly again with his free hand. It felt incredible. 

It felt disgusting. Miles felt like he was going to be sick, feeling the rigid muscles and sliding skin beneath his palm, the pulsing veins against his fingertips. Why was this happening? Why was Quint making him do this?

The man's breaths were shuddering, his teeth still clenched as he watched Miss Jessel and forced Miles to jerk him off. His other hand held Miles tightly, enjoying the quiver and tenderness of the boy's muscles, his smooth soft hand around his own cock. He imagined it was Miss Jessel, but the fact that it was Miles the thoroughbred, his hand at least, tugging him off made it all the more sweeter. Take  _ that _ , you rich entitled fucks, I'm defiling your perfect little boy. And I'm just getting started. 

Miles focused on the only thing that didn't make him want to scream. He watched Miss Jessel brushing her hair. He noticed she'd put her robe back on and was grateful. He didn't want to see her pretty body while Quint was making him do this, those things didn't belong together in his mind. Instead, he focused on her hair, the trance-like glide of the brush, the delicate movements of her wrist that did  _ not _ remind him that his own wrist was moving without his permission, getting faster as both Quint's grips tightened. The man began to make breathy noises of pleasure, licking his lips and thrusting forwards to meet their combined hands, fucking into Miles' unwilling fist. 

Miles wanted to dig his nails into the tender flesh, making Quint scream and stumble so he could make a run for it, but every consequence flashed through his mind. They were not limited to Miss Jessel finding out and running away with Flora in tow, either. He had visions of Quint strangling him to death, hands wrapped around Miles' throat with far more intent than his current grip, eyes flashing like a crackling fire and a grin that took up his whole face. Then he'd hurt the others, and no-one would ever know.

Miles found himself shoved forward, forced to bend down so his shoulder hit the wall below the window, Quint's hand holding his neck so he couldn't move while the other gripped Miles' hand even tighter. 

"I'm fuckin'... comin'...!" The man snarled, and Miles squeezed his eyes shut just in time for an eruption of hot, sour-smelling liquid to splat against his cheek, ropes landing in his hair and eyelashes, on his  _ lips _ . Quint's body shuddered and twitched through his orgasm, letting out a low moan of satisfaction as he used Miles' hand to milk the last of his cum out. Then he grinned and pulled the kid even closer, using the head of his cock to smear the whiteness over his white skin, poking his cheek and eyelid with it. "Good boy…" he muttered, panting, and finally released Miles. The boy slumped to the floor, utterly stunned. "Don't open your eye, it'll sting like hell." Quint said with a chuckle, cleaning himself off with his handkerchief before dropping it at his feet, pleased when it fluttered to rest right under Miles' nose. The monogram was clear, even in the moonlight: JF. John Fairchild. 

And, with that, Quint walked away, leaving the boy he was supposed to protect and nurture kneeling in the dirt, afraid to open his left eye. 

Miles stayed there, on his hands and knees, for what could have been hours, his whole body trembling. He wasn't very good at winking so he was only able to open his right eye a little, keeping the left one squeezed shut as tightly as he physically could, desperate not to feel that stuff on him,  _ in _ him. Would Mrs. Grose know if he showed up at breakfast with a red eye, irritated from that  _ stuff? _ Would she know what it was, did it have some tell-tale sign unique to itself only? He had no idea, he didn't know the science…

After a while longer, he started to cry, bitter and silent, and vaguely realised that was probably the best thing to do, make sure none of  _ it _ got into his eye. So, he cried, biting his lip hard and sobbing quietly, his tears watering the dirt beneath him. Eventually, he was brave enough to open his eye a little and, when no stinging happened, he let himself sit back on his heels, breathing the night air deeply, gulping it in like water in the desert. 

He picked up father's handkerchief, a blue satin one, his mother's favourite colour, and frantically wiped at the side of his face, desperate to get the cold, slimy, smelly stuff off his skin. He cried as he did this too, using the moisture from his own tears to clean off what he could. Then he vomited, the smell of the alcohol he'd completely forgotten about making him want to puke again. 

Panting and shivering violently, Miles covered the acidic puddle with loose topsoil and braced his hands on the cold stone wall. He stayed still for a few moments, trying to get his breath back and brain working, before forcing himself to his feet. His legs felt like they were made of Jell-O, his stomach achingly hollow. He hadn't had any dinner, he remembered dimly; Quint had taken him straight to the bar after their afternoon practice so all he'd eaten since lunch was some peanuts.  _ Oh well, _ he thought,  _ don't think I could stomach anything right now anyway…  _

It was then he remembered Miss Jessel, her window was right in front of him, she would be able to see him if she turned around from her vanity. He focused his eyes, bracing himself to see her disgusting, hateful expression when their eyes met. But no, the room was dark, a vague person shape in the bed, and Miles wondered how long he'd been kneeling on the ground. He hoped Miss Jessel kept her door locked…

Slowly, he forced himself to walk, leaning heavily on the wall as he navigated the flowerbeds towards the back door. He hoped Mrs. Grose wasn't waiting for him to come home, he didn't think he'd be able to smile around this. All he wanted was to shower and curl up under the covers, probably cry some more. 

He made it his room uninterrupted, feeling like an intruder, a thief in the night, and immediately went into his adjoining bathroom, running the shower hot. He dropped the soiled handkerchief into the sink and ran the water over it, squeezing it out a few times before using it to scrub at his face harshly, not caring when it began to sting. 

Then he stripped and got into the shower, gasping at the searing temperature, and made himself endure it until he felt his skin burn. Then he turned the dial right back the other way, the flow almost immediately becoming freezing, like a pelting nor'easter on his quivering body. He grabbed the bar of soap and scrubbed it against his own face, then lathered his hands and rubbed them all over his face and hair, remembering it was there too, and clawed at his scalp. 

He washed his hair twice, and brushed it as fast as he could without ripping big chunks out. He didn't care if his hair was frizzy or smooth as Miss Jessel's. 

Finally, shivering even worse than before, Miles turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping himself in a big towel before going to the sink. He brushed his teeth three times, paranoid that some of Quint's stuff had got into his mouth, scared he couldn't taste it over the taste of stomach acid and whiskey. He wished he had mouthwash, something powerful and lingering, and made a mental note to add it to Mrs. Grose's shopping list tomorrow. Hopefully she would be too glad he was taking care of his teeth to ask any further questions. 

He left the bathroom after peeing, not looking down at all the whole time, and got dressed into an old sweater of his father's and some soft pants. He crawled into bed, the frame creaking as always, and pulled the comforter over himself completely. He dropped into an exhausted, restless sleep, waking twice from nightmares that had him gasping and fighting against phantom hands on his neck and wrist. They felt like they were crawling all over him. 

The next morning, Mrs. Grose had just looked at him disapprovingly, taking his tired appearance as purely hungover, and he saw her lecturing Quint later that day. When Miss Jessel arrived, radiant in a yellow dress, her long hair braided over one shoulder, Miles had to rush from the room for fear of vomiting up his orange juice and toast breakfast. How could he ever look at her again, her pale eyes and kind smile, after what had happened…? 

He found himself desperate to go back to school, where there were classes and bullies and stern priests but at least there was no Quint, no Miss Jessel. How was he to know it would all get far worse before the summer ended…

~

"God, Miles… that's horrible. I can't believe he- a-and that was just the first time he… touched you like that?" Kate asked. His pale face had been blank as he told the story, using as few words as possible and completely withdrawing from her. His eyes were emotionless, glassy even as tears rolled down his cheeks, and Kate desperately wanted him to come back. He nodded slowly, his vacant stare finally fading into something more alive, and he glanced at her. 

"Yeah… it got a lot worse." He all but whispered, swallowing thickly. Kate wiped at her eyes, sniffing, and nodded. 

"Ok… do you think you can tell me anything else right now?" She asked and he nibbled his bottom lip, then shook his head. "Ok, that's ok." She said, then remembered a pack of tissues in her glove box and retrieved it, handing one to Miles. He thanked her softly, wiping at his face and blowing his nose. "Thank you, Miles, for trusting me with this. I can't even imagine what you've been through, really, and I'm so grateful you can share it with me. I'm here for you now, and… we'll get through it together." He glanced at her and nodded, then took a deep breath.

"Ready for grocery shopping now?" He asked, sardonically, and she laughed the hardest she'd laughed since arriving at the Fairchild Estate, and he laughed along with her, both slightly hysterical with too many emotions and lack of sleep. 

"Oh my God…" Kate said, wiping her eyes for something other than horror for once and getting her breath back, still giggling softly. Miles was smiling, though looked like he might burst into tears at any moment again. "Are you sure you're up for it? You can stay in here if you'd prefer?" She checked and he shook his head. 

"No, I'm ok. Flora's pretty particular about ice cream." He said and she chuckled, wiping under her eyes for any stray makeup.

"Ok, let's go." Kate said, and opened her door, Miles following on his side. 

In the end, the shopping trip was a success. They managed to find a goat's cheese pizza for Mrs. Grose, got three pepperoni pizzas, one for each of the others, plus a jar of black olives for Flora because they didn't have her requested combination. Miles got a jar of Mexican jalapeños too, so he could make his spicier. 

They also stocked up on ice cream, Miles a very helpful consultant in regards to flavour, and Kate indulged in a bottle of wine for herself and Mrs. Grose, if she was interested. Kate offered to sneakily buy Miles something if he wanted but he politely declined, going a little pale. She said sorry and hesitantly patted his shoulder, relieved when he didn't flinch. She knew there was a lot more he hadn't told her yet, he'd admitted as much, but she would hold onto her promise and not force him to tell her until he was ready. 

They got back into the car and Kate waited before she turned the key, letting Miles speak if he wanted to. If he refused to talk about this in the house, which she didn't blame him for at all, then their options were more limited. He took a deep breath, obviously mulling it over, then glanced at her and shook his head. She nodded, the engine coming to life, and they headed home. 

They were nearing the house when Miles suddenly panicked, his breathing harsh and tears in his eyes. Kate pulled over as quickly as she could, and looked at him.

"Miles?" She asked, unsure of what to do. 

"I… I don't w-want to go back…! He watches me, and he's watching you too." He whispered, young face terrified. "We… w-we can't go back- he'll hurt you-" Kate turned to him and grabbed his hand, squeezing tighter when he didn't pull away.

"No, he won't. We give him power by being afraid, he can't hurt us if we don't let him." She said, her own chest feeling tight but she forced the feeling down, her Brave Face well and truly on. He looked back at her with wide eyes, comforted by her steady words and calm expression. 

"How…?" He asked. She thought for a moment, then gave a nod.

"First… we're gonna cover every mirror in the house. Mrs. Grose will just have to do her hair by feel." She said, and he managed a small smile, though it quickly fell off. 

"Sometimes… I feel like he's in my head. Not thinking about him but- it's like he lives inside me sometimes. I feel like he's… controlling me." He whispered, tears rolling down his proud nose. He glanced at her, chin trembling. "It's got worse since you arrived… I-I'm afraid he's gonna hurt you… or m-make  _ me _ hurt you." he finally admitted, hands white-knuckled on his jeans. She stared at him, eyes wide. 

Yes, Miles had been inappropriate with her a couple of times, but it was all fairly innocent stuff. It probably would have even been sweet if he was younger… But the thought of a man like Quint controlling the boy, forcing him to do his bidding, it made her feel sick.

"You don't want to hurt me, do you?" She asked after a couple of breaths. He looked at her, eyes wide, and shook his head.

"Of course not, I would never-" she nodded and he quieted.

"I know, it's ok." She soothed. "I need you to fight him, Miles. And we can spend more time outside the house." 

"But… Flora-" 

"Has he ever tried to hurt her?" She asked. He swallowed and thought, then slowly shook his head.

"I don't think so." He said and that gave Kate pause, a moment to be relieved. 

"Good. Well, we're the only two that know about him, right? So, if we aren't there, or afraid of him, he has no power." She reasoned, having no idea whatsoever if that was right. She thought her mother, trapped in her delusions but safe in them too. Ignorance was bliss sometimes…

Miles was considering this, sniffling, and Kate gave him another tissue - she'd stocked up at the store. 

"Why do you think Flora is so afraid to leave the grounds?" She asked after a few moments. Miles looked at her, then out the windscreen. The turning to the house was just within view, the stone gates solid amongst the trees. 

"Our parents died at the gates. She watched them die…" he said hollowly, swallowing. "She's scared she'll die if she leaves. Mrs. Grose always said we were safest at home." He said, eyes glassy. Kate looked between him and the gate, a little seed of anger at the housekeeper taking root. 

She wondered if she knew about Quint, knew what he did. If she was aware of the terror he'd inflicted on both Miles and Miss Jessel, but did nothing about it… she was just as much to blame for what happened to their old nanny. They both could have been safe if she'd just fired him, made him leave… or even called the cops. "It's not her fault." Miles said, making Kate jump and look at him. He was still staring blankly out the window.

"It's not whose fault?" She asked.

"Mrs. Grose. I never told her. It was a secret. And Miss Jessel never said anything either, about how he treated her." He said, ghen blinked and looked at Kate. He could have been 65 years old for all the burden in his young face. "We're all pretty good at keeping secrets." He said. Unnerved, Kate couldn't think of anything to say. She just stared back at him. He nodded towards the house. "Let's get back, the ice cream's gonna melt." He said. 

"Miles… do you know what happened to Miss Jessel?" Kate finally asked, her heart pounding in her chest. He sighed, swallowed again, and shook his head. 

"Quint hurt her… but I don't know where she is." He said softly, like he was afraid of being overheard. Kate nodded, wiped her own stinging eyes, and drove back to the house without another word.


	2. Spare the Rod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pizza and movie night, Kate giving Mrs. Grose a piece of her mind, and the Smiths. What more could you want? 
> 
> Only implied abuse in this one, nothing graphic.
> 
> I've brought in Uncle Henry from the original story (unnamed but a dreamboat) and the Haunting of Bly Manor, because these rich children don't seem to have a guardian besides their housekeeper.

Flora was ecstatic when she saw the paper-bagged bounty they delivered to the kitchen, squealing at the ice cream and pizza, not to  _ mention _ the bonus of garlic bread as well. 

Mrs. Grose was less than pleased, peering at the extravagance with a tight-lipped frown. That was until Miles presented her with her requested pizza and the huge lettuce that he proceeded to chop  _ himself. _ Kate also got out the bottle of wine and, when she offered the older woman a glass, Mrs. Grose replied,

"Oh, well… just a small one."

They cooked the oven pizzas in the huge farmhouse-style range, plus the garlic bread, all at once, and were soon tucking in at the dining table. The atmosphere was jovial, Miles and Flora laughing and enjoying their food far more than Kate had ever witnessed from either of them. Even Mrs. Grose, who ate like a bird usually, was truly enjoying her meal and agreed to a second glass of wine when Kate was giving herself a top-up. 

"So, guys, after this… how about we watch a  _ movie?" _ Kate suggested, smiling. She grinned at Miles and he looked at Flora with raised eyebrows. 

"What movie?" The little girl demanded. Kate grinned and reached under her own chair, where she'd secretly hidden their last minute purchase. A home video cassette of  _ The Secret Garden _ . Flora stared at the shiny box like it was the holy grail. 

"We can set up my TV and VCR in the sitting room." Miles said, earnest, because Mrs. Grose didn't look convinced. 

"It's a great movie for kids, I saw it with my class on a trip to the movies." Kate said, pretending to be hyping Flora up, though there was really no need to do so. The little girl leapt up and grabbed the box from her teacher, voraciously reading the back cover. 

"This looks  _ so _ awesome!" She cried.

When Kate was perusing the small selection of videos at the grocery store, because the small town didn't have a video store, her eye had immediately been drawn to Disney's  _ the Fox and the Hound _ , thinking the little girl would enjoy the cartoon. But then Miles spotted the adaption of the Burnett novel and grabbed it, saying their mother used to read it to them and it was Flora's favourite book. 

They'd bought both in the end, Miles lamenting their father's disregard for television. Miles had asked for one for his 12th birthday and they had obliged, a VCR the year too, but they had very few videos at all. Filling the large creaking house with some fictional entertainment couldn't be a bad thing. 

"Very well, I do enjoy the book." Mrs. Grose conceded, gathering up the plates. They could have cold pizza for breakfast, Kate said, and only received a mild glare from the housekeeper. 

Soon, they were settled into the largest sofa in the sitting room, facing the huge 22" television set Miles had set up on the antique coffee table (but only after Mrs. Goose had covered the surface with a large doily). 

Flora began by complaining that the beginning was different to the book, saying the servants all died from  _ cholera, _ not an earthquake, but then she settled down to enjoy the movie. Kate found herself crying through most of it, the poor little Mary Lennox with her spoiled precociousness but obvious trauma and neglect reminding her too much of her new charges, and chanced a glance at Miles whenever she thought the movie might trigger him - not least the over abundance of garden and gardeners. 

But, no. He was sitting straight as a rod beside his sister, near where Mrs. Grose was ensconced in the oversized armchair with her nose buried in her handkerchief, eyes in the vague direction of the TV but not seeing a thing. 

The film was beautiful, of course, and very reminiscent of their own surroundings. When Dickon and Mary began rejuvenating the garden, Flora got super excited and started asking about doing some garden herself. Kate was delighted by the idea, she'd always wanted to garden but always lived in apartments, not even a window box to tend. 

Again, Mrs. Grose was fretful about the mess and danger such activities could create but Kate assured her they'd just stick to a flower bed, maybe a vegetable patch, nothing too extreme.

"Vegetables and fruit and flowers! We could grow our own potatoes and apples and- what's that stuff Quint always had, Miles? The dry grassy stuff - he told me they were herbs but I can't remember what kind." She asked, looking at her brother. When he didn't respond, still staring fixedly at some unknown spot, she shook his arm. "Miles!" She cried, and he looked at her with a small, aborted gasp. Instantly, his brave face appeared.

"Sorry, I was daydreaming - what did you say?" He asked. She rolled her eyes dramatically, sitting up on his knees to maintain his full attention. 

"The leaves in the little bag Quint had! He said they were herbs but he put them in paper and-" 

"Tobacco, Flora, you know that." Mrs. Grose cut in impatiently, wanting to watch the film. Miles' expression had gone even more distant, even more drawn, but his sister hadn't noticed. She sat back down with a huff and crossed her arms. 

"Not  _ that _ stuff, the other stuff. It was green, not brown, like… like moss from a tree." she grumbled. Miles' eyes rose to meet Kate's, and the meaningfulness in it made her stomach clench. 

"Miles, can you come help me in the kitchen, please?" She asked, standing up. He nodded immediately and got up, already slinking out of the room when Flora noticed. "Well, someone's got to serve Miss Flora her ice cream, right?" Kate asked, grinning, and Flora gasped.

"I almost forgot!" She cried, grinning. 

"Keep watching the movie, we'll be right back." Kate said in a stage whisper, and Flora nodded. "Mrs. Grose? Ice cream for you?" She asked the older woman, who was trying to concentrate on the film.

"Oh, just a small bowl, please." She said, smiling. Kate nodded and followed the teenager to the kitchen. 

Miles was getting bowls out of the cupboard, setting each one down on the counter with slow, methodical movement thay told Kate he was struggling to keep it together. 

"Miles?" She spoke soft but, even so, he jumped at her sudden presence. He composed himself quickly, as he was so apt at doing, and gave a shaking smile. 

"He smoked weed, and other stuff. That's what Flora meant." Kate nodded slowly. "It stank, I hated the smell…" he mumbled, twisting the sleeves on his sweater in his hands. 

"Did you ever try it?" She asked. At college she'd smoked a fair amount, but hadn't for a while. Rose occasionally came home with a little baggy and made brownies but, even then, Kate rarely indulged. She feared her mother's mental illness, which may be lying dormant in her own mind, would be stirred and awakened by the substance. It was an hallucinogen, and she was scared she'd start seeing things that never went away.

Miles shook his head.

"He offered it to me but… I was too scared." He said. She smiled gently and nodded, moving to the freezer to retrieve the two tubs of ice cream they'd bought. She set both on the counter with the bowls and, together, they began portioning out the flavours evenly. "He grew it here, you know…" Miles whispered as they stood side-by-side, scooping ice cream. Kate looked at him and he glanced back. "There's an old greenhouse near the stables, behind the big trees. All the plants are dead but I think he was selling around town." His voice was ever so soft, like he was telling a secret that no one should ever know. He felt a thrill of defiance against Quint, his ghost. 

_ I've told two of your secrets now, _ he thought victoriously,  _ and I'm going to keep telling them until there aren't any left. Nowhere for you to hide. _

Kate smiled at him proudly, bumping his arm gently with hers. There was nothing she could do with this information, really - both the illegal produce and the man responsible for it were dead - but just the fact that Miles was able to talk about it with her, and in the house no less, was certainly a victory for her too.

They smiled at each other and finished their ice cream distribution. Kate put the tubs back into the freezer, and they each took two bowls back to the sitting room, armed with spoons, chocolate sauce and a bowl of fruit salad to appease Mrs. Grose. Flora was absolutely delighted with the bounty and scoffed her chocolate-smothered dessert hungrily, then polished off Miles' when he offered his half-eaten one for her to finish. 

The film ended in tears for everyone, on and off the screen, and Kate put Flora to bed before helping Mrs. Gross with the dishes. Miles went to his room to listen to music after giving Kate a small, grateful smile and thanking them both for the evening. 

As soon as he was gone, Mrs. Grose turned to Kate with a frown.

"What have you done with Miles?" She demanded. It was the kind of thing that should have been said in a joking way but it was not.

"You mean 'why is Miles suddenly a good kid?' This 'nice boy' I've been hearing so much about, why is he back?" Kate asked, a little more courage in her than usual, maybe from the two glasses of wine or maybe because she'd heard more horror in one day than in her entire career as a teacher. 

Mrs. Grose scowled at her, their pleasant evening all together seemingly forgotten, but Kate continued with a sigh. "All I've done is  _ listen _ to him. You should try it some time." She said, and she dropped her dish cloth on the side, temper flaring. "Apparently, I'm the only one who's been able to figure  _ that _ part of the puzzle out." She muttered, and left the kitchen. 

*

After cooling off for a few minutes in the evening air, Kate checked on Flora and found her fast asleep. Then she knocked on Miles' door, right beside the one she'd just closed. The music on the other side of the door quietened, even from its respectful din in consideration for his sleeping sister, and he called 'come in', which she did. 

He was sitting by his speaker on the mattress, a book in his lap. She smiled gently at him and stepped closer, taking up her seat on the opposite end, as before. 

"What are you reading?" She asked. He held up the old battered leather-bound volume, revealing the title of  _ Moby Dick. _ "Wow, I'm impressed. It literally took me about four years to read that thing." She said, smiling. He huffed a laugh and shrugged. 

"I like it, I think it's kind of funny." He said, running his fingers down the cracked spine. They were both quiet for a moment, then Kate broached a question she'd been wondering since she'd first stepped into the room. 

"Hey… how come you don't have a bed frame? I mean, I get the whole grunge thing but it can't be super comfortable? We can get you a new one if-" Miles' huge eyes suddenly looked up from his thick curls.

"No! I don't want a new one." He said hastily, a little too loud. He seemed to realise this and swallowed, looking down again.

Kate felt a now pretty familiar pang of dread and nodded slowly. 

"Ok, that's ok." She said and he relaxed a little, gaze flitting to the big mirror looming over them. 

Kate followed his eyes to it and sighed. She'd never hated an inanimate object more. "Do you know what they do in some Irish Catholic families when someone dies, what they do during mourning?" She asked. He shook his head. "They cover all the mirrors with cloth." She said, her voice croaky, and he looked up at her. "Happens in Judaism too, and other cultures - covering the mirror helps for focusing on God and their connection to his image, because death disrupts it. 

"In Ireland, it's believed that a spirit can enter the reflection, try to return to its body because it looks just like our world, and... the spirit can get trapped." She spoke softly. His thin body gave an obvious shiver, looking at her with pleading eyes. "Maybe we could try it?" She asked, and he nodded slowly, tears in his eyes. 

"Yeah… let's try." He said, voice husky and small. She smiled and rose slowly, picking up a blanket that was draped over an old lamp. He stood too and, together, they covered the large mirror's threatening gaze, blocking its reflective surface completely. Kate stepped back and nodded. 

"There, that's better. We can do the rest tomorrow, maybe take some outside. We can get rid of this one, if you like?" Miles nodded slowly again, glancing around the room. Kate watched him with worry, seeing how deeply uncomfortable he was in here. 

_ "He came to my room at night sometimes. He'd sneak in when everyone was asleep. I thought it would keep her safe." _

Kate looked down at the frameless mattress, the bare floorboards and walls. Flora's bedroom, right next door, was highly decorated, themed and perfect for her. Miles' room was… cold, thrown together. A typical teenage boy's room, maybe, but it just didn't feel right. Considering how much time he spent in here, it didn't feel lived in. 

"Maybe we could redecorate in here…? What do you think?" She asked. When he looked at her, she elaborated. "You know, a few cans of paint, some posters…" her eyes caught on the photo of Kurt Cobain on the wall. Even though it was just a photo of him asleep backstage at some festival gig, she remembered seeing it in a magazine, it had a macabre side to it after his tragic death. 

It was a depressing photo, where it should be actually kind of adorable. The room itself seemed to taint it with worse events. Just as it tainted Miles. "Or… we could pick a new room for you. There's so many, we could  _ totally _ do it up, exactly how you want it." She offered. He stood beside the disgraced mirror, head down and shoulders tense. 

"I… I don't want a different room." He said softly. Kate waited for him to keep speaking and, with a glance to her, he did. "I don't want to live here anymore."

"Well, can't say I blame you for that." She admitted sympathetically. He swallowed thickly, nipping his chapped lip. "Do you know, um, what your parents said in their wills? What the rules were for you and Flora?" She asked softly. He thought for a moment, a deep frown on his young face, then shook his head. 

"Just that Uncle Henry is our guardian now." He said, an edge of bitterness in his tone. Kate had never even met her employer, she could understand Miles disliking such an absent non-presence. 

"Ok, well. Maybe I should give him a call?" She suggested, but the boy looked unconvinced.

"If you can get a hold of him. It's almost impossible."

"Emphasis on 'almost'." She said, and his worried mouth finally quirked in a smile. "So, you're sure you wanna keep sleeping in here? There's plenty of rooms, you can sleep wherever you want." 

"I'll be fine here. I'll… just keep the mirror covered." he said and she nodded, casting another worried look at the imposing blindness of the gold frame. 

"Ok, good idea. Think I'll cover mine up too." She said with a smile. He nodded slowly, glancing at her with apparent apprehension.

"Do you wanna… listen to music?" He asked awkwardly, gesturing to his stereo. "I've got some pretty good albums." Kate smiled and nodded, and they retook their customary seats on the mattress. She watched Miles load up a CD and grinned when she heard the first cords. 

"The Smiths, huh?" She asked and he shrugged, smirking. 

"I like them." He said.

"Me too." They both smiled at each other and went quiet again, companionable and content as they listened to the morose lyrics and Morrisey's dulcet tones. 

The album ended - had 45 minutes passed already? - Kate sighed and stretched, getting up.

"Thanks, I needed a little chill out." She said, smiling sleepily. He looked disappointed that she was leaving so soon and she smiled gently. "I'm gonna call your uncle in the morning, ok? We can go from there. To be honest, I think you kids would be a lot better off somewhere else." She sighed again, fiddling with her rings. "Are you gonna be ok?" She asked him softly. He'd been listening to the rather depressing Smiths in total silence, a faraway expression on his face. 

He smiled and nodded, and she let herself believe him. "Ok, well, don't stay up too late." She said, returning to nanny mode. "Pizza for breakfast." She added and he smiled properly then.

"Mrs. Grose is gonna be so mad." Kate grinned and wrinkled her nose, shrugging. She really didn't care what Mrs. Grose thought, she could have saved Miles before anything happened, before Quint got his hands on him. She probably could have saved Muss Jessel too. 

"Night, Miles." Kate said and left his room, closing the door gently behind herself. She peeked in on Flora, fast asleep, and went to her room. 

Pulling some sheets from the cupboard, she first covered her vanity mirror, then the one in her bathroom, before finally feeling comfortable enough to get changed. Removing her clothes still felt wrong in the room, her skin goosepimpling despite the relative warmth, and she couldn't fight the need to check behind her. She got into bed, cozy in an oversized sweater and trackpants, and read a book until she fell asleep. 

When she woke up, it was to the sound of screaming. 


	3. Hide the Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's play 'Hide the Mirrors'! Kate gets shit done.

Kate leapt out of bed, glad she was appropriately dressed as she whirled around the corner and down the hall towards the sound of Flora screaming. She burst through the door of the sitting room, eyes searching for the tall, looming darkness that he'd come to know as the ghost of Peter Quint. 

What she found was Flora, standing in the middle of the room and screaming at the top of her lungs, Mrs. Grose sitting with her head in her hands and fingers in her ears.

"Flora!" Kate yelled over the piercing sound, her sleep-addled mind sluggish. The little girl stopped at once, clamping her mouth shut with wide eyes. "W-why are you screaming like that?" Kate demanded. "You almost gave me a heart attack!" She panted. Flora rolled her eyes like Kate was the one being too dramatic. 

"I don't  _ want _ to play chess." She said petulantly, crossing her arms in a sulk. 

"I simply offered to teach you-" Mrs. Grose tried to reason but Flora ignored her. 

"I want Miles to teach me how to ride a horse but he says I'm not big enough for Delilah yet and, anyway he's 'busy'." She did an extravagant air quote gesture before collapsing onto the couch, where she proceeded to whine and cry into the pillow. 

Kate took a deep breath, letting it out in a huff and scrubbing a hand through her wayward hair, and approached the little girl. In all honesty, Kate couldn't blame her for being so petulant. In a house this big, this beautifully but sterilely preserved, she'd probably scream just for something to do.

"Tell you what, I have a project for you." Kate said, rubbing her back gently. Flora made moping, questioning noise into the goose down cushion and Kate smirked, glancing at Mrs. Grose. "It's an exploring game… a finding things game. I would like you to make a note of every  _ single _ mirror in the house. Every single one. Do you think you can do that for me?" She asked. Flora rolled floppily onto her side and frowned at her, a hint of her crocodile tears still present. 

"All the mirrors?" She asked, in inclination of interest in her voice.

"All of them." Kate said with a nod. "Think you can find them?" She asked and Flora nodded, sitting up. 

"Of course, I know where  _ everything _ is." She said and Kate chuckled, brushing her hair back.

"I bet you do. And, hey, you can start right after breakfast. Mrs. Grose can go with you, make sure you're counting right, ok?" She asked, looking at the older woman, who was frowning at her suspiciously. 

"Whatever for?" She demanded. Kate smiled, shrugging. 

"We're going to play a game. It's called, um... 'Hide the Mirrors'." Mrs. Grose looked unconvinced by the for-the-child's-benefit spiel, so Kate elaborated. "Miles and I decided we need to… cleanse the house. That means no mirrors, nothing reflective. We need to concentrate on our insides, right? Not outsides." She said, looking to Flora, who grinned. 

"I like it! Then I won't have to brush my teeth!" She said, and Kate laughed. 

"Nope, you'll still have to brush your teeth." She said. Flora conceded with a shrug, good-natured once again.

"Yeah, I super don't want teeth like  _ Quint _ ." She said, sticking her tongue out with a look of childish disgust. Kate smiled and forced a laugh, before standing up with a clap to both her knees. 

"Ok, let's get some breakfast, shall we? Is Miles up yet?" She asked, surprised he hadn't come running at the sound of his sister's screams too. 

"Yeah, he was up crazy early. He said he wanted to take Sampson for a walk." Flora said and Kate nodded, a pit of worry creeping into her stomach. She didn't like it when her charges were away from her, it was the same at the school she'd worked at and that's even without everything these kids had been through. She liked to know exactly where each of them were when she was responsible for them, so she could make sure they were safe.

Kate made herself nod with a smile. 

"Oh, ok, great - I'll go see if I can find him. Can you help Mrs. Grose with breakfast, please? We'll have the leftover pizza for lunch." She said and Flora nodded, grinning her little-toothed smile. 

She'd never been offered the chance to assist in the kitchen, not even to make cookies, so Kate's suggestion made her aspiration of becoming a chef all the more attainable. Mrs. Grose was still looking perplexed but smiled when her favourite little girl held her hand and looked up at her with eager expectancy. 

Kate was smiling until she left the house, having pulled on boots and a coat over her pajamas. She headed straight for the stables, trying not to let her anxiety get the better of her. She knew Miles could handle himself; if nothing else, Quint seemed to have trained him well on a horse. The only good thing the man ever did, by the sounds of it. 

Approaching the stables, she couldn't see any sign of the boy or the black stallion who had frightened her so much on her first day. She considered calling out for him but the air felt too heavy, the world too open, shouting always seemed wrong out here. 

She found Miles, relaxed and uninjured as he brushed down his ill-tempered horse. The beast was perfectly calm, it seemed, until Kate rounded the corner. Miles looked around at her, eyes wide, but her presence had the opposite effect on him. He smiled and soothed the grunting horse, the powerful legs moving restlessly, metal shoes clip-clopping softly on the stone. 

"Hey, there you are. Time for breakfast." She said, keeping her distance. He nodded, sweeping a comb through the dark mane and dislodging the small pieces of twig and leaf that always seemed to be there. 

"Ok, I'm just finishing up." He said. Kate nodded even though he wasn't looking at her anymore, deciding to wait and walk back with him. 

"I, um, I've asked Flora to take note of every mirror in the house, for after breakfast. We can follow along and cover them." She said, and he looked over his shoulder. His expression was one of fear again. "We're just… taking away a source of anxiety. Nothing else. I think we'll all feel better once we have." She reasoned. He nodded slowly, returning to his beloved horse. 

"What if… what if it doesn't work?" He asked. 

"Well, if it doesn't then… we'll think of something else. Listen, I'm still gonna talk to your uncle. I'm going to ask if we can get you both someplace else to live. A nice… condo or something, whatever." She said, shrugging. The stables were particularly cold, colder than outside, and she wrapped her arms around herself. "It's not healthy for you to live here, he's got to understand that." She muttered, mostly to herself. 

Miles put his brush down with the other tools, each one neatly placed in a wooden box, and kissed the horse's nose before calmly leading him into his stall. He mumbled a farewell to him, then to Delilah as he passed and she pressed her face against his. He smiled, kissing her too, and scratched behind her ear before joining Kate. 

"Uncle Henry is… kind of weird. He hardly ever calls, and it's only ever to ask about our studies. He doesn't care about us." He said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. Kate sighed, turning, and they made their way up to the house. Miles was wearing simple jodhpurs and a sweater, riding boots, so he must have been chilly. She wanted to put her arm around him but resisted, curling her fingers into her own sleeves. 

"I'm sure he cares about you both very much. Some people just… don't know how to show it, you know?" She said, and didn't see if he responded because her hair was blown into her face. She tucked it back behind her ear impatiently, wishing it was either longer or shorter. "So… we cover all the mirrors, and I'll call Henry. And then, maybe, we can all play a board game or something?" She suggested, eager to keep everyone together. 

"Yeah, ok." He said blandly, eyes on the grass as they walked. She didn't say anything more, letting him speak if he chose to. He didn't. 

They were greeted by the smell of pancakes when they returned to the house, Miles looking entirely surprised by the food development. It obviously wasn't a common smell. "You've unleashed a monster by letting Flora help in the kitchen." He said with a smile, and Kate chuckled. 

They found Mrs. Grose carefully placing a stack of two fluffy pancakes each onto four plates, and Flora digging through the fridge for syrup. Miles retrieved said bottle, as it was a shelf too high for her to reach, and a punnet of strawberries as well. 

They all sat around the kitchen table and dug in, everyone complimenting the chef enthusiastically. 

"I hope they're not running you ragged with all these new requests, Mrs. Grose." Kate said, sipping orange juice. The older woman scoffed softly and waved a hand as if it was no trouble at all. Kate simply could not figure her out, she was an enigma. Human whiplash.

"Did Kate tell you about the scavenger hunt, Miles?" Flora asked, grinning.

"Uh… yeah, she did. Mirrors, right?" He asked. She nodded, holding up her notebook and sparkly pen. 

"Yep, every single one. I've already got the big one in my room and the one in the school room. Oh! And the one from the 1980s." She said, writing this one down as well, then paused and turned to Kate. "Why  _ do _ you want us to hide all the mirrors?" The nanny faltered. Hadnt she already answered this question, vague as it was? The little girl was smarter than she thought.

"We're just, uh… Well, we're-" 

"Keeping the ghosts out." Miles said for her, bluntly. "We're gonna cover them all up." The siblings looked at each other for a long moment. Flora seemed to entirely understand and nodded. 

"I think that's ok. Mommy always said 'appearance isn't everything'." Kate grinned.

"That's right." She said, giving Miles a smile of thanks which he returned wanly. "After breakfast, we'll get started. I found a bunch of old sheets in a closet downstairs the hall, I think we can use them?" She asked, looking to Mrs. Grose. She had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the discussion, chewing thoughtfully. She took a dainty sip of tea and cleared her throat. 

"Yes, that should be fine - they're usually used for dust sheets when workmen are here so they'll need a good shaking out." She said. Kate smiled at her and nodded.

"Great! Miles and I can do that, can't we?" She asked, and he nodded, pushing his barely-touched food around the plate.

"Here, darling. Have an apple." Mrs. Grose said gently, passing him a fresh green one from the bowl. He took it with a small grateful smile and bit into it slowly, diligent but slow in his chewing like it was medicine, like it tasted like chalk. 

After the meal, Mrs. Grose took Flora off to put some muckier clothes on for their excursion while Kate and Miles did the washing up. They stood side-by-side at the sink, Kate washing and Miles drying, when she glanced at him. 

"Are you ok?" She asked softly, wary of the others' return. He nodded, eyes on the frying pan he was wiping. "Nuh-uh." She said childishly, and it was surprising enough for him to look at her. She raised her eyebrows challengingly and he sighed. 

"I'm just… scared. If the mirror thing doesn't work, i-if it makes him angry…" he mumbled.

"Then we'll think of something else. I'm going to talk to your uncle today, I promise, and ask him to let us leave here."

"But Flora-" 

"She'll be ok once we're out of the gates." She said, knowing it was true. "If it's to protect us, to protect  _ you _ , she'll go."

Miles swallowed and nodded slowly, carefully adding a bowl to the small pile of clean and dry crockery beside him, ready to be put away. Kate smiled gently, and they continued in silence, finishing the chore just in time for Flora to run in and show off her overalls and boots. 

"Look, Miles, I look like a builder!" She cried excitedly, doing a spin. Miles laughed and nodded.

"Looking good!" He praised, the little girl glowing.

"We'll start on this floor, and you can catch us up, yes?" Mrs. Grose asked, smiling. Kate nodded, surprised by her willingness to participate in the strange activity. 

"That's perfect, thank you. Make sure you right down every single one, ok?" She asked and Flora nodded, pulling her notebook and two new sparkly pens out from her front pocket. 

Again, they separated for their respective tasks. Kate and Miles changing quickly before grabbing an armful of sheets each. They took them outside to the gravel and shook each one out, stretched between them, before folding them neatly again. 

"What about windows?" Miles asked.

"Curtains." Kate answered. He smirked and nodded. 

"Touché. Spoons?" 

"Um, eat with your eyes closed?" She suggested and he laughed, his young face softening. "I'm not saying this is going to solve everything. I just think it'll help everyone relax a little better." She said.

"Yeah, I hope so… my dreams have been-" he cut himself off, mouth drawing into a thin line. 

"What, Miles?" Kate asked gently, but he only shook his head.

"Not here." He whispered, still afraid even in the gardens. Perhaps  _ especially _ in the gardens. Kate regarded him for a moment, then sighed.

"Miles… how did Quint die?" She asked. His whole body froze. 

"He fell off his horse." He said stiffly.

"Were you with him when it happened?" She asked, but he was already shaking his head. 

"No." He said staunchly.

"Mrs. Grose said he was drunk?"

"Yeah. It was after… after Miss Jessel left, a couple of weeks. He lost it even more, like he was actually crazy, drunk  _ all _ the time." He said, shaking his head with a shiver. "I can't talk about him here." He said through gritted teeth. 

"Ok, it's ok. We can go for another driver, later?" Kate asked gently. He nodded, and they continued with their task until every sheet was dust-free. Then they returned to the house to find the rest of their little group busy counting mirrors. 

"We've almost finished this floor, and then we're going upstairs." Flora reported with a grin. 

"Whoa, you're really making progress!" Kate said with a smile. "Do you have the list so far?" She asked and Flora nodded, tearing out the first page with her notes and handing it over smartly. Kate grinned and kissed her forehead, making her giggle, then they separated off. She and Miles hung sheets over each of the eight mirrors in the pace, ripping up those that didn't need the full size, Flora and Mrs. Grose sought and counted those ahead. 

It went on like this until they reached the attic, which only Kate and Miles entered in case it was dangerous, or if there were spiders. There were a couple of very dusty old mirrors, one had apparently been kicked in, so they leaned them all against each other on one wall and draped their last sheets over them. 

Miles sighed in relief, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

"That's all of them." He said decisively, and Kate looked at him with a smile.

"Yeah?" She asked. 

"Yeah. I can feel it." He said, finally giving her a real smile back. Then he glanced behind her and the smile dropped, the color draining from his .gaunt face. 

"Miles?" Kate asked, rushing forward to catch him when he stumbled in a faint. Holding him up, she looked over her shoulder to whatever he'd seen, terrified it was somehow, after everything, Quint. 

But, again, no. There was no dark presence before her, no shadowy figure. It was something that should have been entirely innocuous, but it wasn't. Not at all.

It was a bedframe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten points if you catch the movie quote!
> 
> Kudos and comments are always greatly appreciated, thanks for reading


End file.
